


telling possibilities untold

by Siriusstuff



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Derek and Stiles are Mates, Established Relationship, Ficlet, Fluff, Implied Mpreg, M/M, Married Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Mpreg, Tiny bit of Angst, bottom Derek (implied)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-09
Updated: 2015-07-09
Packaged: 2018-04-08 11:14:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4302648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Siriusstuff/pseuds/Siriusstuff
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles learns that being a shape-shifter's mate can have surprizing consequences.</p>
            </blockquote>





	telling possibilities untold

**Author's Note:**

> The tags tell everything but the full spoiler is in the end note.

Derek opened his eyes to see Stiles already sitting up in bed. He reached to run his hand along his mate’s back, noting his skin felt cool, as if Stiles had been awake a while.

Stiles looked down at Derek with a big grin, then announced, “We need new curtains.—I mean, how do you feel about new curtains?”

Already sensing he’d best reply with care, Derek cleared his throat, giving himself a few seconds to compose a good answer. “These curtains keep out daylight when we sleep in late, but I—“

“Oh, we can still have that—just, how ‘bout some color, Derek. Greens, and blues and golds—like your eyes!—like a forest in spring!”

“You woke up thinking, ‘need new curtains’?”

“No!” Stiles cried. “I woke up and the first thing I saw was these old things and _then_ I thought, ‘We need new curtains.’ Maybe we could paint too.”

That’s when Derek smelled it, a slight difference in the scent he loved. He got up on his elbows and took one of his big sniffs, though he tried doing it subtly as possible.

“ _What_?” Stiles nearly whined. “Don’t you dare tell me I stink! We fuck like we did last night, I sweat like I did last night.”

“I did not say you stink—“

“You implied it—with your—nostril movements.”

“You just smell— _different_.”

Flinging away the bed covers, “Fine!” Stiles declared. “Shower it is.” He stopped at the doorway and looked back. “Joining me or what?”

Derek joined him.

It was a _very_ amorous shower, Stiles clinging to Derek, sensually slippery, humping, kissing, biting, till their sperm was flowing down the drain with the soap suds.

 

***

 

Scene two: Bed, Bath and Beyond.

Derek was sure they’d entered the “Beyond.”

Solid wood curtain rods with horizontal pineapple finials poked out of the cart. The new curtains were heavy, forest green, with a narrow golden yellow wave pattern running diagonally. There were also new kitchen curtains, sky blue with sunny yellow accents. Four new fluffy towel and wash cloth sets, all in jewel tones. Two new sets of Egyptian cotton bed sheets, one in ocean blue, the other with tone on tone stripes of teal.

Then Stiles spied throw pillows, grabbing hold of three so plush they looked like they might adorn a sultan’s palace. Long fringe, of some shimmering golden cord, trimmed their edges. Stiles piled them in the cart.

“These for starters,” he said.

“Stiles,” Derek tried to interject, when it struck him again, an unmistakable new note in Stiles’s scent, richer, slightly—sweeter? It overwhelmed the rank, cloying stench of eucalyptus permeating the store in combination with the smells from shelves of scented candles by the dozens. It neutralized the lousy perfumes, stinky colognes and stale body odors of every other patron around them. Stiles’s scent, plus, drew Derek to itself, to the juncture of Stiles’s neck and shoulder.

Instead of recoiling Stiles tilted his head, offering his neck, his throat. In turn he moved toward the same place on Derek.

In the middle of an aisle in freakin’ Bed, Bath and Beyond.

_Snap out of it, Hale!_ his voice of reason commanded, though Derek’s wolf only growled, deep and low. _Back off, Reason. Or die now_ , the wolf warned.

“Get whatever you want, Stiles,” Derek whispered to his mate.

Stiles had been about to wrap his legs around Derek’s waist, to attach his mouth to Derek’s mouth, to soul-kiss him.

He reconsidered.

“Ooh, fleece throws,” captured his attention, “for the sofa! They look so _snuggly_!”

Nothing could ever keep Stiles more snuggled than being wrapped in his arms, Derek thought, but he followed where Stiles led.

 

***

 

On the way home Stiles begged Derek to stop for dinner out. Stiles didn’t care where, as long as it was any place that served curly fries, which shortened the list of possibilities to two. Derek picked the one _he_ liked because its coffee was unsurpassed.

Then he watched as Stiles devoured a double cheeseburger, with extra cheese, a side order of curly fries, most of Derek’s fries (which he’d ordered knowing Stiles would eat them), and for dessert a plate-sized Belgian waffle topped with a double scoop of French vanilla ice cream and drizzled in a hundred percent pure maple syrup.

The diner was noisy with the non-stop chatter, as well as heartbeats, of the other customers in the very popular eatery. The clatter of plates and cutlery was continuous. Derek’s keen ears could hear the traffic going by outside, sometimes jets overhead, the wait staff conveying orders, sharing complaints and gossip. He’d learned as a boy how to tune out all that noise and when he did then all he heard was Stiles’s heart—and— _and_ a new, tiny heartbeat, faint and so, so rapid.

Derek’s own heart stuttered. Heat rose from his insides to his outsides.

“Derek?” Stiles asked. “You OK there?”

“Stiles,” was all Derek could say.

“Derek! You’re all flushed! _Are you OK?”_ There was definite panic in Stiles’s voice. “Waitress!” Stiles couldn’t remember this one’s name, though she’d told them. “Could we have some ice water here, please!”

“Stiles, Stiles, I’m fine,” Derek insisted, feebly at best. He could still hardly speak.

“You are _not_!”

“Can we go see my mom?” Derek entreated.

“Derek, if you do not tell me what’s going on—I’m going to—” Stiles left the threat hanging, unpronounced.

“I want her to smell you,” Derek admitted.

 

***

 

“This is wonderful,” Talia said, her voice soothing as ever but with a tremble in it Stiles might not have heard ever before.

Standing with his mother-in-law in the kitchen, Stiles looked out the windows toward where the Preserve stood in darkness. All he could see were his reflection, Derek’s and Talia’s.

_Breathe, just keep breathing_ , he told himself.

Derek put his arms round Stiles’s shoulders, embracing him gently, face to face. “We’re going to have a pup, Stiles,” Derek said. He wasn’t whispering but his voice was so quiet he may as well have been.

“ _What_?”

“We’re going to have a baby.—We’re pregnant,” Derek said in Stiles’s ear.

The floor felt soft, also, uneven.

“ _You’re—pregnant_?” Stiles asked, from a considerable distance away, in his head at least.

Derek was already guiding Stiles to a seat. Stiles slumped into it and Derek crouched in front of him. “No, Stiles,” he said, “ _you_ are.” Derek wanted to smile, to explode with joy, actually, but he maintained calm, for his mate’s sake.

When Stiles would look back on this moment he’d say he should have received numerous awards for absolutely _not_ losing it.

“I’m pregnant,” Stiles stated, without comprehending.

“What am I gonna tell my dad?” was his next utterance.

He could not see Talia, behind him, striving to communicate to Derek with looks alone.

“Can I say something?” she finally asked, silently, to which Derek nodded.

“Stiles, darling,” Talia began. Talia infused the word “darling” with genuine affection, the way a mom could do—the way, Stiles thought, _his_ mom would have said it, had she been there.

Oh, how he wished she was.

“This kind of thing doesn’t happen except between mates. It hasn’t happened in our pack, our family—for generations.—I remember my grandmother talking about _her_ grandmother remembering the last time a man gave birth in our family,” Talia told the still stunned pair.

“Lucky fucking me,” Stiles replied.

He saw Derek’s expression turn hurt. The news was still unbelievable, literally unbelievable, so Stiles’s response was a reflex. He reached out and cupped Derek’s cheek. He smiled wanly.

“Would you like to go to see Alan, for confirmation?” Talia asked.

_Alan Deaton? No fucking thank you_. For once Stiles felt no intimidation whatsoever, facing the mighty alpha of the Hale Pack and saying, “I am _not_ going to a _vet_ to be told I’m pregnant.”

Talia didn’t argue, though she left the room, which succeeded in unnerving Stiles since he felt he might have gone too far and truly offended the alpha.

Staring at one another, Derek rubbing his hand, “What the fuck,” Stiles whispered, in reference to _everything_.

Talia returned with a business card.

_Hayat R. Ansari, M.D._ , was inscribed on the card, with an address in San Francisco.

“Dr. Ansari specializes in treating—our kind,” Talia explained.

“I thought werewolves never got sick,” Stiles queried.

With a smile Talia answered, “We have—different problems.”

“Tell me about it,” Stiles said.

 

***

 

“Can you show me,” Stiles asked Derek, later that night in their bed, “exactly where it is?”

Stiles was sitting up again as he’d been that very morning, Derek again stretched out alongside, elbow cocked and his head resting on his hand.

The once sweet scent was sunken under a sharper one, anxiety that might wrinkle even a human nose.

Getting on his hands and knees Derek leaned over Stiles, bringing an ear close to Stiles’s chest, downward, lower and lower, looking so much like he was about to go down on Stiles’s dick there was no resisting a joke, though the joke vanished on Stiles’s lips as he tried to speak it.

“I mean the—the—” he almost said “baby” but quickly substituted “—heartbeat.”

“It’s here.” Derek softly touched a place about four inches below Stiles’s bellybutton. “At least this is where I hear it the clearest.”

Stiles put his hand over the spot. He felt nothing different.

“You look so sad, Derek,” Stiles sighed.

“So do you.”

“I just—this is like—I don’t even know. It’s still not real,” Stiles stammered. “Let’s not tell anybody—I mean it, not _anybody_. Not yet.”

“Not till you’re ready.”

“Thank you.”

After a beat, Stiles gave Derek a look. “You can be happy about it, though.”

“Not till _you_ are.”

Stiles pulled Derek close, lay back so that Derek could rest his head against him.

“This sounds assholey I guess but, _I’d_ be happy if it were you. I mean, happy about having a—pup—with you—if it were you. I still wouldn’t know how the fuck it happens, but I’d be happy about it now if you were the pregnant one,” Stiles confessed.

“It _could_ have been me,” Derek declared.

“What?”

“Mom told me the last time it happened in the pack, it was a pair of wolves, two mated male werewolves.”

“So… this _could_ be you, next time?”

Derek shrugged. “I guess it could—”

“Oh it _so_ is! It _so_ is!” Stiles pitched to one side, so that Derek was on his back and Stiles was on top. He shifted till he’d covered Derek with his whole body.

“The pack wants history, the pack’s gonna _get_ history! After we’ve _both_ given birth!”

Suddenly the energy that had deserted Stiles hours before in the diner was back. The grin on his face was wicked; the grin on Derek’s, relieved.

“Stiles wha—” Derek started.

“Don’t ‘Stiles’ me!—Once this baby’s born, I’m fucking you till you’re pregnant!” He planted forceful kisses on and all around Derek’s mouth.

“Sti—”

“If I have to fuck you every day—if I have to fuck you morning, noon and night!”

Derek lifted his crotch against Stiles’s and Stiles immediately pushed back, pressing Derek flat again.

“Gonna be up your ass all the time. Every sperm I’ve got’s goin’ for a swim inside you.”

Stiles's words ended in kisses getting wetter and longer. When Derek turned his face so he could speak Stiles kept kissing him, his ear right next to Derek’s mouth when Derek asked,

“Starting now?”

“Starting right fucking now!”

**Author's Note:**

> This little fic is my first foray into the subject of mpreg. Stiles starts experiencing nesting impulses and increased appetite. Derek smells a difference in Stiles's scent and then hears the fetal heartbeat (which I learned is first detectable at around six weeks into pregnancy, for humans at least.)--The rest is my own imagination at play.


End file.
